Becoming the Wind
by Kage Hasu
Summary: Adopted from Quetzalcoatls. Long ago a girl became the wind. Centuries passed and it forgot. Becoming Jack Frost's constant companion the two embark on a quest to discover who they are and where they came from, and perhaps even change the world while they're at it. Fem!Harry
1. To Remember and To Forget

Disclaimer: Rise of the Guardians and Harry Potter belong to their respective owners.

Quote: "Life is a roller coaster, and I'm not strapped in."

Chapter 1: To Remember… and To Forget

No one knew it existed (_It didn't care)_. It tumbled and twirled in the sky, never stopping, never tiring. It was a wild spirit. It remembered being grounded. It remembered that its friends had taught it to fly. It remembered a cage of Destiny formed with chains of expectations, duty, and friendship. It remembered moments of stolen freedom. It remembered a lot.

It remembered existence in a dark box and existence in a round room in a stone fortress (_a house of stone that had somehow become home)_. It remembered danger and lies and friendship- hurt-excitement-fun-trust-anger-fear-loyalty-truth -forgiveness-and-being _loved_. It remembered that freedom was important, but that truth and forgiveness and love permeated its being right down to its very center.

It remembered the first time it felt _right_. It had been clever, but preoccupation with monsters and friends and _people_ had kept it from knowing the nature of its own magic(_but maybe it had always known, somehow_). The first time it had been given a glimpse of what was inside its spirit and what it would ultimately become. It remembered a pale pointed face, insults, and a ball of red smoke. There had been a tiny, flimsy twig which had the power to give wingless beings an imitation of flight.

That had been so long ago.

That had been the beginning.

It had been happy, but not innocent. Darkness had quickly changed that. Danger and mystery and Fate (_or was it Destiny, it could never remember the difference_) had grabbed it and held it down to fight against a monster which wore the flimsy skin of a man. It had held on to the knowledge that all wars must end eventually.

It had been right of course, the war ended, the monster was slain, and the chains crumbled to dust; even the chains of friendship. It had loved and adored the friends (_family_) it had made and it stayed as long as it could tolerate. But soon the call became too strong to ignore and it had had to leave. Wanderlust, the humans called it. Only that wasn't quite right.

It remembered saying a good-bye that wasn't. It hadn't decided to leave that day, but somehow _she _had known. It remembered leaving for a flight, a pastime that had been increasing more and more as the days wore on. She had smiled at it, a bittersweet smile of knowing and peace and loss and overwhelming love. She had always had a way of knowing things no one had the right to know; the blonde girl with eyes of the moon. She had known that she wouldn't see it again (_not like it had been, not in the girl's lifetime_). But they were both okay, because they both understood.

It remembered that the day had been perfect for flying. There had been few clouds and the wind felt playful (_only wind wasn't playful… couldn't be, not yet_). It danced with the clouds, magic escaping its body to thread through the wind. Its essence unraveled and wove itself into its surroundings, blending until it couldn't tell where it started and the wind ended. Weaving and weaving until it didn't matter where it began or ended because it and the wind were one and the same and there was wonderful freedom and truth of _this is how it should have been_.

Later that day, its friends (_family_) found that twig on the grounds of the stone fortress it had sometimes called home. The girl told them what had occurred. They mourned, but knew they couldn't. They had loved it (_her – once it had been a human girl, a magic user, it remembered_), but it had always been a wild spirit. They had it for a little while, for as long as they could keep hold of it. But they had been unable to tame its spirit and so were unable to keep it in their grasp (_it would have been cruel_). It was a creature of the sky, and to the sky it would return. Wind was in its blood, and it was the wind. It had always been the wind.

The first things to go were names until only the faces of its friends (_family_) remained, and soon even those were forgotten. It remembered very little now. At one point, in a fit of longing and despair, it had taken all its magic and buried its crystal clear memories. It couldn't recall warm embraces, dog piles, or snow ball fights. It didn't want to (_that was a lie_). The memories were there, buried, buried deep in its mind. But it couldn't recall any of them. And until it could, it was less than it could be and not what it should be.

It couldn't recall a cage of Destiny formed with chains of expectations, duty, and friendship. It couldn't recall moments of stolen freedom. It could no longer recall that once; it had been grounded but that its friends had taught it to fly. It could no longer recall a lot. But the wind was a wild, untamable spirit and it twisted and twirled in the sky, never stopping, never tiring. No one knew that it existed. No one knew that the wind was _alive_. It didn't care.

Only that was a lie. It did care. And at its very center were truth and forgiveness and love that had been forgotten. Freedom was all that it remembered and freedom was all that it could recall (_along with a home of stones and eyes of moon and freckles and her first hug ever)_.

And no one knew that it existed.

And time passed.


	2. A Meeting Between Ice and Wind

Disclaimer: Rise of the Guardians and Harry Potter belong to their respective owners.

Quote: Flying is simple. You just throw yourself at the ground and miss.

Chapter 2: A Meeting Between Ice and Wind

Wind, for it had long since forgotten its own name, had the largest body on Earth. Mother Nature, who was the only one who might have been a rival for the title, limited herself to a humanoid form and simply spread her awareness throughout the Earth. Wind was the opposite, its body spanning the globe, but its essence was contained in a single breeze not much longer than an average human was tall.

At this point in history, Wind's essence was flying over a recently settled area in a land which had been much less populated during Wind's first visits across the great water. The village was called Burgress, although names were not important to a creature which had no one to converse with. It was night, and a full moon gazed down serenely on those who walked the Earth. Wind had passed Burgress and was just passing over a frozen pond when it heard a crack.

Confused for the first time in its memory, Wind swirled around in a slow circle, trying to determine the origin of the strange noise. More cracks followed, sounding much like breaking ice. Or rather, exactly like breaking ice as Wind soon found out, turning its attention to the ground. The pond was breaking up.

Emerging from the frozen depths was a boy. He was tall, the Wind decided, and skinny. The boy was dressed all in brown with hair white as the snow surrounding the pond. An odd, thin mist swirled around his back and all the way down to his calves. He was, a small forgotten part of Wind noticed, rather handsome. The boy stumbled on the ice, slipping slightly on the slick surface as the ice beneath his feet mended as though it was the middle of winter.

Wind was intrigued.

It watched as he looked around, confused and lost looking. One pale, bare foot brushed a crooked wooden stick lying forgotten on the icy surface. The boy started, yanking back like a skittish colt. Slowly, as though the stick might suddenly turn into a venomous snake like that of Moses and the Pharaoh of Old, the boy picked up the long piece of wood and held it in front of him, face twisted in concentration. Blue light shown in the knots and twists, and the boy jerked back, the sudden movement causing the end of the stick to make contact with the already frozen surface of the pond. What happened next startled Wind and the boy equally.

Icy frost, similar in design to ferns, erupted from the stick and carved their way across the pond. Wind startled. How interesting. Apparently the boy thought so too for he tapped his new staff against a tree, marveling when the patterns curled around the bark. He tapped the wood against another tree and watched the patterns appear again. Whooping and shouting, the boy ran back to the pond, dragging his staff across the surface and delighting in the patterns which occurred.

Wind was struck by the beauty of the icy designs on the smooth surface and was seized with a desire for the boy to see his own work. Decided on a course of action, Wind spread its essence to more of its body and zoomed down to the ground, shakily picking up the boy and hovering over the pond. Startled, it took a few moments for the boy to notice he now had a perfect view of the work he had made on the ground. When he did notice, he exhaled rather shakily, a bit in awe of his own work.

Stunned by the ethereal look on the boy's face, Wind lost a hold of his body and he dropped. Wind winced as the boy crashed through branch after branch and finally came to rest on a relatively strong limb, his own limbs wrapped securely around the wood. Feeling a little guilty for dropping him, Wind flitted down to the boy's level, relieved when he hopped back up as if nothing had happened, laughing in delight.

Wind watched as the boy's attention was caught by the lights glowing dimly in the distance. Immediate understanding came as the boy crouched, muscles tensing as he prepared to spring off his perch. Wrapping some of its breezes around the boy, Wind slowly transported the boy to the village. Having never tried to actively make someone fly before (birds and other flying creatures simply shaped its body under their wings), there were many dips and sudden drops on the trip. After a rather abrupt landing, Wind turned around and prepared to leave, content in the knowledge that the boy was back where he belonged and it could continue on with its existence.

Absently it listened to the boy's chatter as he greeted the townsfolk.

"Ah, hello there, ma'am. Oh excuse me, could you please tell me where I am-ahhh."

And then it stilled for a long moment; something it hadn't ever done to its knowledge. The boy sounded injured. Whipping around it stared in growing concern as it spotted the boy with a pale, long-fingered hand pressed to his chest as though to soothe some unseen pain.

The townspeople grabbed their clothing as a quick wind stirred up the cold air before glancing at each other in confusion as the sudden breeze disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

Wind circled around the boy, trying to find how he had been injured. It was unable to find anything. The boy stumbled back into the path of one of the townsfolk and Wind tried to warn him of the inevitable collision. But Wind was unable to be heard, and the villager stepped unheeded through the boy. Another and another followed.

The boy looked around in horror and pain at the town full of people who were unable to see him. Deep in Wind's mind the echo of a memory stirred and a feeling of invisibility and _look at me!_ washed over it. Wind swirled a little in confusion, not knowing where the feeling could have originated.

Desperation quickly appeared on the boy's features. It was the desperation which got to Wind. Gently, it threaded a few breezes (_fingers_) through the boy's hair, trying to offer comfort in the only way it knew how.

The boy's eyes pleaded with the unseen spirit to take him away, and Wind obliged. It picked him up and carried him away, flying him from place to place and where ever the boy wanted. It hadn't realized (_had purposely forgotten_) how wonderful companionship could be, even if your sole companion didn't believe he was talking to something that was actually alive.

The boy – Jack Frost he had introduced himself as – lived and discovered fun and pain and _life_, dragging Wind along for the ride. Wind quickly discovered that the Jack's powers were tied to his emotions and will. A perfect example occurred almost five winters after Wind had first met the winter spirit.

Confused, lonely, and in pain, Jack had screamed his emotions to the sky. And the sky had answered back. A thick snow fell, seemingly never ending. Wind stilled its body as much as possible, well aware that if it moved it could create a blizzard which would kill thousands.

Jack released his pain on the world for seven sunsets and Wind wept, unseen and unacknowledged by his side.* It wished desperately that it was able to be heard as more than a shriek or a moan, both were things that would only worsen Jack's depression.

Jack was not alone. And Wind would never let him be alone. Wind knew (_and how was that possible_) that having even just one person recognizing your existence was wonderful and uplifting, but not enough for social creatures such as humans. It would have to get others to realize that Jack existed, to get them to care for him too. But to do that it would have to be able to speak, and be seen and it would have to let Jack know that from the very beginning it had always been there, would _always_ be there.

And so Wind began the long task of regaining its self, of becoming who it should be. And it would begin with making itself understood.

* * *

*Great Snow Storm of 1717


	3. Baby Steps: First Words

Disclaimer: Rise of the Guardians and Harry Potter belong to their respective owners.

Quote: "Just because I'm smiling doesn't mean I'm happy...because it takes one smile to cover up a million tears."

Chapter 3: Baby Steps: First Words

Two decades (_time meant nothing to Wind, but Jack liked to keep track_) after their first meeting, Wind decided it was time to show Jack a place which was near and dear to its heart, even if it couldn't remember why.

The two spirits were in Switzerland at the moment, bringing the inhabitants a light snowfall. Jack laughed in glee, swinging around the top of a tree to survey his handiwork.

"Brilliant," he breathed. "Come on Wind, let's go home."

Wind would have grinned if it could. Jack couldn't hear Wind, and to be honest Wind wasn't certain if Jack thought it was alive or if the boy just couldn't stand the silence and isolation. Wind sometimes thought that Jack wanted to believe that it was alive, but that he didn't really think it was. It upset Wind that Jack thought he was alone.

Rushing at Jack, and bringing a flurry of snowflakes with it, Wind lifted Jack with ease, having gotten much better at flying with the boy. Whooping in excitement, Jack let go of the tree and let the wind carry him back to his lake.

~ x ~

Jack's brow furrowed in confusion when he was set down on the edge of a large, dark lake. He hadn't been flying near long enough to get back to his pond; he hadn't even crossed the ocean. In fact, he wasn't quite sure where he was. The wind swirled around his body, tousling his hair and tugging on his clothes. Perplexed, but with nothing better to do, Jack decided to just go where the wind would lead.

The wind directed him up across the lawn and to the steps of an imposing looking castle. Jack stopped in astonishment, jaw hanging open in awe.

"Wow," Jack spoke aloud, "that's fantastic." The boy stepped up to the great wooden doors and pushed. Nothing happened. "Must be locked or something."

Wind preened, happy that its friend was pleased with the castle. The castle had a name but it had long been forgotten by the spirit. Swirling a little in joy, Wind swept under the great front doors and lifted the latch. Then it slammed its body against the other side of the doors, causing them to creak open.

Jack entered hesitantly, unsure if it was okay to enter but confidant that the wind wouldn't have opened the door if it didn't want him to go in. Which brought up a fascinating train of thought: a wild force of nature wasn't capable of opening heavy, _latched_ doors, at least not without breaking them down. Not unless it was sentient, of course.

Could the wind possibly be _alive_?

Unaware of the thoughts racing through Jack's mind, Wind tugged harder at the winter spirit's threadbare clothes, eagerness causing it to forget gentleness. Bemused, Jack followed placidly.

The free spirit led the winter spirit through dark stone corridors and up the Grand Staircase, flickering torches casting ominous shadows and leaving corners poorly lit.

Jack looked at the moving portraits in open awe. They were currently on the second floor and he saw what looked to be a queen from a few centuries ago talking about newspapers – of all things – to a small man in a pointy green hat and billowing velvet pantaloons.

("But Miss Boleyn t'was in the _papers_!"

"Temeritus, half of that drivel is pure nonsense."

"Nonsense?! Nonsense?! Aw, Miss Boleyn it's in black and white innit? Means it's _got_ to be true."

The queen sighed in the long-suffering manner of one who has argued their point many times before and yet still cannot get the other to see common sense.)

A nearby still life portrayed a basket of apples. Just as Jack was about to pass the painting off as unbearably boring; a fat lady with dark ringlets and a light pink dress entered the frame, sat herself down and started eating one of the painted apples.

Jack's mouth dropped.

A warm breeze drifted across the back of his neck. Jack yelped, almost crashing into the ceiling in his surprise. He landed lightly, glaring at the air around him but unsure where he should direct his ire. The breeze swirled around his body playfully and, now that he was paying attention, Jack got a sense of amusement from the current of air surrounding him.

"Yeah. Yeah, laugh at the startled winter spirit," Jack grumbled good-naturedly. The feeling of being laughed at increased. "Well come on, where next?"

Wind swirled in a circle happily. Tugging on Jack's clothes once more, the invisible spirit led its male companion up five more flights of stairs, down another corridor until they arrived at an obviously unfinished painting.

The painting depicted a stone bench in front of a tall wall, over which the dark green foliage of trees could be clearly seen. A heavy curtain of a similar shade was draped over one corner of the scene, but the bench was empty of any occupant.

"That's a bit odd. It looks like there should be someone sitting there," Jack mused aloud to himself, momentarily forgetting his sentient companion.

Wind was also rather confused, the painting not causing a trickle of nostalgia like other items in the castle, and indeed the castle itself, caused. Literally and metaphorically pushing away the past, Wind twirled around the wooden stick Jack never put down. The sudden force caused one end to make contact with the painting's frame creating fern frost which spread across the entire canvas. The nature magic in the frost was enough to trigger the inherent magic of the portrait.

Jack and Wind jerked back slightly as the portrait swung open.

Pleased, Wind swirled around in excitement before entering a round room with a roaring fireplace and lots of crimson fabric. There were a few children in the room, though none had looked up when the portrait opened. Two young girls and a few older boys, all dressed in long black robes and pointy hats. The girls were shrieking in laughter, one of them covered with a substance that looked decidedly disgusting to the unseen sky spirit.

The boys were converged around the grand fireplace, talking about something called 'Quit-itch' and 'Tutshill Tornados.' Wind, whose very nature caused tornadoes, didn't know what they were talking about.

Meanwhile, Jack had cautiously climbed through the hole behind the portrait and had already decided to explore one of the staircases. Something he quickly regretted as a high-pitched scream rent the air, the sound tearing at the nerves in Jack's body.

Wind was quickly distracted from eavesdropping on the perplexing conversation the boys were having at the sudden sound. Quick as a flash of lightning, Wind lifted Jack off the steps and back into the large, round room. The noise stopped immediately, but not soon enough to stop the other occupants from startling.

As the mortal residents of the tower were evidently working themselves up into a panic, Wind and Jack quickly exited the tower to pursue less _noisy_ entertainment.

Throughout the rest of the day and through the next five sunrises, the two wandered the large castle. Jack took great delight in exploring places such as the Great Hall

("The ceiling's gone! _That can't be comfortable for them when it rains. _Look at all the candles Wind, there must be hundreds! And they're floating! ... Oops. Um, how do you make it float again?"), the boathouse ("A little fleet of boats! I wonder if they go out on the lake often. Do you think they would Wind?"), the green houses

("Ahhh! That plant just spit at me!" An accusing finger pointed at the wooden bench the 'spit' had landed on. Jack promptly lost what little color being a winter spirit allowed him when his ice blue eyes fell on smoking wood.), and the Headmaster's office

("Look at all the portraits Wind. This place sure is old."

"Who goes there," an elderly witch in green spoke up. Jack turned his gaze on her portrait, wondering if a painting would be able to see what the living could not.

"There's nothing there Phyllida." This time it was a pompous looking portrait who spoke.

"I know I heard something Vindictus, just because _you_ can't see anything doesn't mean there's nothing there." Phyllida turned to a portrait of a man in black with a long, pointy ginger beard. "I do wish he believed me when I tell him things, Amrose. It would make things a lot simpler."

Vindictus snorted, "And if wishes grew on trees, life would be a breeze. Do be quiet Phyllida, and don't bother Amrose, he hasn't even been here a decade yet and doesn't need to hear your harsh cackle."

Phyllida gasped at his hurtful words and Amrose was quick to assure her that she had a lovely voice and Vindictus was just being malicious. The possible intruder was forgotten completely.).

~ x ~

During some moments of his explorations, Jack could almost swear he heard another voice laughing with him. But when he tried to listen to the wind, all he heard was a faint whistling noise.

Quite apart from his disappointment of being unable to hear Wind and some of the _precarious _times which occurred during the interval at the castle, Jack thought that it had been the most fun he'd had in quite some time. In the beginning, he had thought it strange that a place so obviously made to contain hundreds of people only housed a few dozen at most. Then he had overheard a conversation between one of the girls from the red room and a girl wearing a yellow tie revealing that the Easter holiday was almost over and soon the other children would be returning. Quite satisfied with that explanation, Jack hadn't thought about the extra residents until they literally swarmed the castle.

The morning Jack discovered a small army of children stampeding through the previously quiet corridors and disturbing the calm air with shrill screams of laughter, the winter spirit felt it was time to return to his lake.

Jack sighed into the wind, "Time to go home."

Jack made it home in record time, Wind seemingly as eager to get back to what he considered home as the boy himself.

Wind settled Jack in the center of the lake, letting the boy go where he would to rest. As nature spirits, the two didn't _require_ either rest or sustenance 'though Jack found sleep relaxing and ate when the humans could spare a bit of food.

Jack plopped down where the wind had dropped him, staring up at the moonless sky. Though he had never really believed the wind was alive he had always been grateful that the force of nature never left him. It had been his one source of comfort since the beginning of his existence. Looking back, Jack wasn't sure what he would have done without the wind.

The boy spirit thought back to the past few days with frustration. It was now apparent that the wind – no, _Wind_ – was alive. If only they could speak. At the castle whenever he tried to hear Wind all he heard was a sound like a breeze through a small hole. But he simply _had_ to hear the other spirit. He had to. It would be the first time in his life that someone had spoken to him: to Jack Frost.

He looked around from his spot in the center of the lake, hoping and dreaming that things would go in his favor. Just this once, he prayed to whoever might be listening.

Jack opened his mouth and hesitated. Gathering his courage a croaked, "Wind?" echoed up from his dry throat. A strong breeze swirled up his body and tangled his hair. Jack cleared his throat and tried again; gathering strength from the friendly touch.

"Wind.… Can you speak?" Jack stopped there, embarrassment and fear stopping him from continuing. The wind had stilled until the faint breeze wasn't enough to cause even the thinnest of the snowy locks on Jack's head to stir. Jack had almost convinced himself that his time at the castle had been an elaborate, wishful dream when a faint whisper reached his ears, sounding a lot like words.

Jack shot up, wide-eyed and hopeful, "Wind?"

"_Hello Jack_," there came a slightly stronger whisper. Jack sat frozen, eyes progressively getting wider and wider until Wind feared they might fall out of his face.

Abruptly, Jack buried his head into his knees, thin arms wrapping themselves around his calves and cried.

Jack wept quietly that night, a gentle, loving breeze swirling around his small form. He sobbed in relief. The knowledge that _he was not alone_ overwhelmed his young, lonely mind and made him express it in the only way he could. Someone cared about him, and though nothing had actually changed, the lonely winter spirit's world wasn't as barren as it had been only a week before.

Jack had found Hope. It was only fitting then, that the day it had all begun – the day Wind and Jack had arrived at the castle – had been Easter.

The two nature spirit's quest to regain their selves found it's beginning that dark, moonless night. Though the two couldn't know (and not even the Man on the Moon could suspect – he who saw most everything that passed on the Earth), their quest would be written down and read to the children of the world along with the legend of the Guardians of Children.

And if you haven't you guessed yet that is the story you are reading now. And things have only just begun.


End file.
